


of silk and fair furs

by odeion



Category: SEVENTEEN (Band)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Norse Religion & Lore, Blood and Injury, Light Angst, M/M, Post-Break Up, Selkies
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-31
Updated: 2020-03-31
Packaged: 2021-02-28 21:02:40
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,890
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23413519
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/odeion/pseuds/odeion
Summary: Time heals all the wounds.When he spoke again, his voice was barely more of a whisper."Alright then. Tell me your story."
Relationships: Chwe Hansol | Vernon/Kim Mingyu
Comments: 5
Kudos: 16
Collections: OBSCURE SORROWS FIC FEST





	of silk and fair furs

**Author's Note:**

> This is my first time joining a fic fest and I'm not entirely sure if I did it correctly, but the story is finally here and I'm happy I had the opportunity to participate! 🌊
> 
> aimonomia n. - fear that learning the name of something—a bird, a constellation, an attractive stranger—will somehow ruin it, transforming a lucky discovery into a conceptual husk pinned in a glass case, which leaves one less mystery to flutter around your head, trying to get in.
> 
> kuebiko n. - a state of exhaustion inspired by an act of senseless violence, which forces you to revise your image of what can happen in this world—mending the fences of your expectations, weeding out invasive truths, cultivating the perennial good that’s buried under the surface—before propping yourself up in the middle of it like an old scarecrow, who’s bursting at the seams but powerless to do anything but stand there and watch.

⸙

Mingyu was used to growling storms high above and the barking wind, making the window glasses tremble in their frames. He was used to the metronome-like ticking of the old grandfather clock, a sound barely detectable for someone who lived in the same house for nearly twenty years. Weather like this was common around here. They say it has something to do with the currents and the close proximity of a ley line, an invisible cut across the town.

And Mingyu loved it to bits: the acrid smell of electricity before, the freshness of greenery after the storm; taking long walks down the street with the soaked concrete feeling soft under his soles; the humidity of the air coating his bare skin that some might think of as discomfort.

And Mingyu liked the sea. When he was little, his mother told him about the cleansing of the Earth, when salty waters washed all the old gods away to prepare the land for the new ones. Mingyu loved the idea of big gods with fragile bodies, long white beards and stormy eyes getting flooded out of their glass thrones for the younger, sturdy ones to take their places.

Mingyu liked the sea. And old stories, long forgotten by everyone else. And words; ancient ones his grandmother still remembered, his mother long forgotten and Mingyu didn't know at all. He remembered sea gods and creatures of the deep, kind ones and cruel ones. He remembered bedtime stories his grandma used to tell when the house went quiet, after all the noises died down, after his mother, bone tired with a twenty-hour long shift behind her, passed out in the next room. She used to sing, too, his grandmother; voice raspy, but melodic still, using words Mingyu didn't understand, but was enchanted by them so they remained in his memory, inwrought.

_Drøymde mik ein draum i nótt_

_um silki ok ærlig pell,_

_um hægindi svá djupt ok mjott,_

_um rosemd með engan skell._

He was raised on stories about the ocean, its never-ending cycles controlled by the moon. Always changing, dancing, roaming, always furious and never kind. The way he always knew and always loved it.

Until Him.

⸙

_Eleven letters. Something sudden, startling or violent._

Mingyu didn’t remember sitting down by the small kitchen table, nor the scent of the large red comforter wrapped around his quivering figure. The events of the past few hours blurred into an amorphic cloud in his mind, having him in the middle of everything, not quite present, but not quiet away. For a moment he hesitated, then reached for the nearly finished leaflet of crossword puzzle printed on newsprint paper and the pen next to it. He furrowed his brow, thinking but before he could fill in the empty brackets, another clap of thunder rammed through the night sky, shaking the wooden panels of the living room.

The power was long gone, one of Mingyu's very few clear memories was digging out two packages of candle sticks from the utility box under the kitchen sink, one of them which he used up already. Somewhere in the house a window was open, a violent breeze was making the candle lights jumpy, casting weirdly shaped distortions on the ceiling and the walls.

While staring out the window, Mingyu vaguely recalled listening to the weather forecast that promised heavy rains and winds, tornadoes even and Soonyoung, the owner of the café letting everyone home a few hours earlier before their shift ended (“No one will be in such desperate need of caffeine to go out in a weather like this.”), with a promise of giving them the next day off if the rains were getting worse.

Through the glass Mingyu saw the blurred green patches of the tiny garden he and Seungkwan planted up last year with pansies and aster. The rain was heavy; a thick wall between the house and the street. The garden will flood, he thought, burping up soil covered toads and baby snails, filling up the empty marmalade jars that have been dry for so long. The thought made him smile a little.

The sky was rumbling low in the distance, tuning the noises of the house to strange frequencies. He picked up the engine of the washing machine, though not recalling when he turned it on or what he put inside to clean. The ceiling above the living room was creaking as if it was about to collapse, but it's been always like this since Mingyu was just a little boy. To six year old Mingyu's utter horror, his mother kept on joking about uninhabited places like attics and basements and their supposed residents, the ghosts. Things that cannot be touched or be seen terrified him as a kid, maybe that was the reason why he grew so fond of the sea and its surrounding. Water, stone, salt. Touchable. Sensible. Solid proof for a kid who grew up in a world that kept changing around him with a rapid pace he was unable to pick up.

The world outside was raging and he was alone, though it didn't quite feel like it. The air was heavy with the scent of musk, something familiar, something alien. Something he couldn't quite wrap his head around.

He lifted up his palms. His heart skipped a beat.

The leaflet was drenched with a dark liquid that stained not only the paper, but the wood of the table as well. The pen slipped out of his clammy fingers, landing with a quiet thud on the floor. The smell made his guts tremble uncomfortably and Mingyu realized the substance came from his own two hands.

His memory failed to pinpoint signs of an injury that could possibly explain what he was seeing and Mingyu felt a weight of weariness pressing around his chest.

The blood wasn't his, that much he knew of.

But who else was there? Did he hurt someone?

Mingyu closed his eyes, drifting. The sky fell down and the clock stopped a minute before striking midnight.

⸙

Mingyu woke up in his bed with a headache pounding behind his eyelids. He took a shower (taking an extra ten minutes to meticulously clean under his fingernails with a nail brush) and got quickly changed into uniform. Whenever someone showed up in an off-white shirt instead of a bright one, Soonyoung was giving the person in question sniffy looks whenever he was around, which was funny to watch but awful to experience.

He didn't have a stomach for breakfast, which was convenient since he wanted to get out of the house as quickly as possible, ignoring the dried patches of blood on the parquet that created a narrow path from the bathroom to the living room on his way out.

Oh Beans was a tiny, independent coffee shop a few blocks from Mingyu's home and popular amongst university students, business men and stay-at-home moms. 

_"A freshly renovated place with a rustic touch."_

Wonwoo was awfully good at mimicking their boss behind his back, but the description was correct. Mingyu loved how cozy it was; the tiny wooden tables scattered in a lovely, chaotic manner, the mismatched windows and how the sunlight was having difficulties to actually get inside the building during the early morning hours because of the thick warps of peace lilies and fairy lights that blocked its way.

No matter how hard Mingyu tried to banish every thought regarding what happened yesterday night, the night he scarcely remembered, he kept getting distracted to the point where he spilled drinks, took out orders to the wrong people or forgot about them altogether. His friends didn't call him out, nor his boss. To be frank, Mingyu knew his façade was way too cheap to fool anyone and the only reason no one mentioned anything was because they all were scared of making things worse. He kept catching Seungkwan's glances across the kitchen area and the new girl, Hwa, who kept lowering her voice whenever Mingyu was around.

Finally, when all the regulars left and the others were nearly done cleaning up for the day, Wonwoo, seemingly tired of getting kept hanging, dragged him inside one of the dimly lit storage rooms.

"Okay, I give up. Mingyu, what the hell?" The concern on the other's face was raw and so honest it made Mingyu's heart wrench. How could he answer that when he himself didn't know what was happening?

He went on with playing dumb. "What do you mean?"

Wonwoo lifted an eyebrow. "You can't answer a question with another question, you know."

Mingyu smiled. His best friend had a smart mouth. He was observant and a little too intuitive to the point where it was just as scary as annoying. And he knew Mingyu since they were toddlers, they couldn't keep secrets from each other even if they wanted to.

"Is this... is this about Him?"

He didn't want to go there, no. The weight of loss was still heavy around his heart, too raw, too unbearable to deal with. So naturally, Mingyu didn't. Maybe it was taking a toll on him now and when he looked at Wonwoo again, he knew the other was thinking of the same thing.

"I don't know Wonwoo. I really don't. Something happened I cannot really... I feel like...," Mingyu's voice cracked, gulping, a sudden rush of emotions making him unable to continue. He didn't want to go there, yet here they were; his eyes swelling with tears he didn't call for, Wonwoo's arms closing around him like a thin layer of cobweb and Mingyu desperately clutching to him as if he was falling apart without its adhesive force.

And maybe he was. At this point, it was hard to tell.

They stood there for a minute, Wonwoo stroking the other's hair, listening to the clanking of the water heater and the chatter of their coworkers. The storage room window was slightly ajar, Mingyu heard the sound of the rain again; a gentle shower this time. He imagined it was washing away all the sorrow of his heart, leaving it empty and clean, so he could fill them with warmth again.

When they heard the others calling out their names, Wonwoo pulled away gently, loosening Mingyu's fingers balled into fists around his shirt. "We should probably head back, the others are looking for us. You're a mess," he added kindly, ruffling Mingyu's already tousled locks, earning a small chuckle in exchange. Mingyu wiped his cheeks with the back of his hand and took a deep breath.

The day wasn't over yet. He had things to care for.

⸙

“Someone’s at the door.”

The dough Mingyu was making was nearly ready, he was about to switch his bare hands to a large mixing spoon when he felt Wonwoo’s long fingers squeezing his shoulder, slightly shaking. He took a step sideways, glanced towards the door, then at Wonwoo again.

“There’s someone at the door,' Wonwoo repeated, voice barely a whisper. "I…I remember closing it, shall we just wait until they’re gone?”

Upon looking up Mingyu spotted a dark, amorphic figure standing motionless right in front of the main entrance. It was getting dark; the gentle glow of the coffee shop made their lines harsh, painting the figure larger than it actually was. Wonwoo, that scaredy cat.

"No," Mingyu said, putting the spoon on the counter, wiping the excess flour off of his hands onto his apron. "Maybe they're lost." The fruit baskets could wait. He glanced towards the glass door again and, while trying his best to ignore Wonwoo clawing on his bare arms, letting out small noises that were close to squeaking, Mingyu pushed the flip-up countertop and headed towards the exit.

Outside rumbled the sky; with every step Mingyu heard the storm approaching, thumping in his throat, making his heart work as if he was running a marathon. The hands now clutching his grew clammy, Mingyu wanted nothing more than to let go, but he knew better; there was a good reason behind the other boy's dread.

The key was still in the lock, exactly where Seungkwan left it when he and Hwa went home, leaving Wonwoo and Mingyu to prepare for tomorrow's special event. Mingyu reached for the key that felt cold to the touch and for a heartbeat of silence there was only the three of them: Wonwoo, softly mumbling ( _"I don't like this ooh I really don't like this, we should call Soonyoung. Or the police. Mingyu please,"_ ) Mingyu with his fingers wrapped around the key and the stranger standing still, seemingly unaware of the weather, eyes boring into Mingyu's.

Mingyu knew it was a reckless thing to do. They were the only ones in the building at this hour, the intentions of the stranger still unknown.

Mingyu decided.

He turned the key and pushed the glass door wide open, watching the figure slip inside a second after.

⸙

"What can I do for you?" Though he tried to sound nothing but polite, the question was stiff, almost rude on Mingyu's tongue, making it obvious that the other's presence wasn't welcome. After lifting down a chair and helping the newcomer get out of his wet coat, Wonwoo pulled Mingyu to the back of the shop, asking him whether he'll be alright, staying alone here with the stranger. Mingyu agreed with a little too much enthusiasm, which he was sure the other was aware of, but Wonwoo didn't push it. Mingyu helped him gather his stuff and since Wonwoo's car was parking behind the building, he let him out though the back door with a promise to text him if he needs help.

Returning to the front, Mingyu saw the man sitting in the same position as they left him. He didn't say a word since he arrived or did anything unusual, which was a good sign. He didn't seem like the kind of person who could do serious harm to Mingyu either, who was towering above him with several inches and was twice his size, but he had to make the promise as he knew it would calm Wonwoo. In reality, Mingyu was scared. Scared to stay alone, trapped in his own head with his heart spilling with emotions.

"Listen, I hate to sound rude, but we are closed for the day and..."

"You haven't changed a bit, Kim Mingyu."

Keeping the distance, Mingyu was leaning against the counter, arms crossed and when he heard those words, he felt a cold stupor washing over him. He knew this voice, its familiarity felt like a punch in the guts, yet he wasn't sure if it wasn't his mind, playing cruel pranks on him out of sheer despair.

"I'm sorry. Do I know you?"

The other hummed, leaning back into his chair, raising his chin high and Mingyu finally caught a glimpse of his features. His fair hair was slicked back, eyebrows arched and a shy smile playing in the corner of his mouth. Around his dark eyes two asymmetrical lilac bruises (sleeplessness? punches?), staring at Mingyu, waiting patiently for realization to hit him.

Something shifted inside Mingyu. Like dropping a match on a trail of gasoline or sinking under icy water. After losing Him, his other half, he never began to search for another person to fill the void in his life. The hole in the middle of his heart began to expand and Mingyu started sinking slowly, a dark shadow taking all the colors from his life, all the fires that were dancing inside him, keeping him alive.

"You used to."

( _“He’s not coming back, you know. His time is up.” Mingyu sighed, tearing his gaze away from the front door, expecting Him to walk in and things to fall back to their places as if nothing happened. To meet Seungkwan's eyes, always sharp, always knowing a little too much._

_Of course he knew._

_He believed, still, because hope was a fragile thing and his mother taught him to latch onto it viciously. And so he did.)_

_("Where are your wise words now, Seungkwan?")_

⸙

"Before you kick me out for good, let me give you an explanation. The explanation you deserve. I promise it won't be long. I just want to..." Maybe it was only the cold or maybe something else, but Hansol's voice was trembling like butterfly wings under a ring-net. His posture was foreign, back and shoulders hunched as if he was in pain, face washed with green-tinted light from the exit sign above the door. Mingyu stayed by the flour covered counter, head tilted sideways. Watching the other. Looking for traces of the man he fell in love with. The person sitting in front of him was Hansol, he had no doubt about that. But he was different, so different he might as well have been someone else. The way he talked, the way he moved, nervous and jittery, like someone who was no longer present in his own life.

"I want you to understand why I did what I did. With coming back here and telling you this, I'm breaking the rules of my own world. I'm not asking for forgiveness, I only ask you to listen."

 _Your world?_ Mingyu didn't understand, but something in his mind told him to listen. He was waiting for so long and now the answers were finally here, yet he didn't feel the need to reach out and get them. Their existence was no longer aligned; the thick, woolen cardigan from the backrest of a kitchen chair was gone with Hansol. After Mingyu tried to pick up the guitar again, his fingers too stiff to find the right chords anymore and the instrument was banished up in the attic. The scent of the other lingered the longest; Mingyu's pillows and covers, coats and shirts were suffocating him, as if wearing them meant dealing with a horde of emotions he wasn't allowed to feel anymore. And when all else was gone, what's left was Mingyu and his rage. Above everything, Mingyu was furious. At Hansol, at himself, and the fate that didn't interfere before they even met. He wanted to break things, fragile things, delicate things. He wanted to hate someone, blame someone, anyone.

Because above everything, Mingyu was furious.

Until he wasn't anymore.

It's been months and the mirrors in the house got covered with white sheets, not allowed to witness how their owner grew colder, thinner. Days were passing by without making any difference, phone calls and text messages from his friends became less frequent and more weary, their tones treating Mingyu as he was made of glass. But Mingyu didn't mind. When you feel as empty and vulnerable as you look, you don't want to burden the ones you love even more. And he preferred it that way. _Time heals all the wounds eventually._ His mother's words on a piece of sticky note glued to a window sill in Mingyu's room, a gentle reminder he didn't take seriously, only after he got wounded himself.

_Time heals all the wounds._

Having Hansol here again, sitting on a chair in a tiny coffee shop, Mingyu's coffee shop, Mingyu's presence, achingly beautiful like a distant star felt like another bite into these wounds: Mingyu knew they'd start bleeding again, this time even more painfully and he wasn't sure he could heal them on his own again.

When he spoke again, his voice was barely more of a whisper.

"Alright then. Tell me your story."

⸙

_“It happened a long time ago. You weren’t even alive back then. Remember me telling you how I used to live by the ocean?"_

Mingyu remembered. He listened to the other’s stories so many times he knew them by heart now. Painful reminders of the time when they were still together, yet something was missing. He was longing, always and always, for the sea. Mingyu didn't understand, at first. He tried his very best to make those anxious wrinkles disappear with meringue pie and warm lemon tea. Honey and small kisses, all to no avail.

Hansol was cheerful and bright, his laughter always the loudest, his embraces always the warmest. But when it was only the two of them, hiding under multiple layers of blankets because Mingyu's house was just too big to be sufficiently warm, listening to the rain or each other's quiet breathing. When Hansol was in Mingyu's arms, their faces inches apart, he saw the sadness in those stormy gray eyes. Ancient sadness, residing deep in the marrow of his bones. They never talked about it, but Mingyu always felt it without being said out loud: Hansol didn't belong here. And he would be lying if he told it didn’t hurt.

" _It wasn't entirely true. I didn't live by the ocean. I lived in it."_

If Mingyu was to tell what the other would say to him after spending so much time apart, he'd have picked anything but this. But he didn't say a word of protest. He waited instead, patiently as always when Hansol had too much to say but could say too little at the same time.

_"Once upon a time, after the old gods vanished from the face of Earth, the newly found ones started working, creating small creatures, tiny as lunulas on fingernails or giants bigger than the land they were banished from. And creatures similar to them with thoughts in their heads and feelings in their hearts and gave them the ability to live both on ground and in the waters. Your grandparents and their parents knew all about these creatures. They called them seal folk, your ancestors. Their existence was based on their abilities to shed their skin and leave the waters for the ground. Without their coats, they were unable to return their home, living a damned life, a cursed life until those garments were recovered again."_

Outside the storm grew calmer, quieter. Inside the sounds of the water heater and the iceboxes, the occasional 'beep'-s of the security system; they assembled into a comforting buzz and Mingyu held onto it as he was trying to decide whether the other was playing games or was genuine and if he was, how much of his sanity Mingyu should have lost already to believe every single word the other claimed to be true.

_(Have you gone mad? Do you expect me to believe all this? Sure, my grandma made up a lot of stories to put a twelve year old to sleep, but it's just stories, Hansol. You leave without saying a word, letting me believe that I am the biggest piece of ass in the whole universe, not even worthy of a decent explanation just to come back with this. I'm tired Hansol. I can't do this anymore.)_

"Why are you here?" Maybe it wasn't the right question to ask, but Mingyu needed to know where he comes into the story. Hansol, back still hunched, eyes fixed on the outside looked at him again, wide-eyed. _I didn't expect you to believe me, but the fact that you do is enough for me._

"I thought it was a given," he replied with a tiny smirk and Mingyu didn't miss the change in his tone.

_It was his Hansol. The one he fell in love with._

"I want to get my skin back."

**Author's Note:**

> This work is part of a bigger universe I'm planning to discover in the future. This might be the reason why some of the scenes leave you a little confused. If you have any questions though, please ask away!  
> ٩(｡•́‿•̀｡)۶
> 
> Special thanks to [pinkwinwin](https://archiveofourown.org/users/pinkwinwin/pseuds/pinkwinwin) for all the corrections! You're my best girl! ♡
> 
>   
> [my cc](https://curiouscat.me/odeion)  
> [my twitter](https://twitter.com/parselmunde)  
> 


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